Todoku
by RougeAngleOfSatin
Summary: v. 'to reach; to arrive; to get through; to make it.' The word used by Hashirama and Madara when talking about the other side. Collection of HashiMada drabbles and short fics. [#7. Madara knows beauty when he sees it.]
1. The End

A/N: Written for Day 1 of the hashimadaminibang for the prompts Beginnings/Endings.

Warning: **Canon character death**

* * *

Madara is dying.

The world is dark. The Rinnegan he fought and died and waited empty decades for have failed him. The tang of blood is sour on his tongue. He has failed.

Sensing chakra is beyond him—he hasn't the strength—but when he hears the footsteps he knows. He's come.

"Hashirama?" he manages.

"Yeah." He sounds sad this time.

Madara regrets. He's died three deaths in the service of a false dream. How else might those years have been spent? More than this though, he regrets that he was never able to share his dream—as the beautiful thing he believed in all those years, not what it became—with Hashirama.

He wishes he could see his face. But as life drains from his body, he supposes he will soon get his wish.

"Comrades, huh? Well…if that's...how it is…then…we will…"

Peace descends.

* * *

A/N: You can't really tell in the online scans, but in the volume release Madara's eyes right before he dies aren't shaded in, they're not Sharingan, they're white HE IS BLIND and my heart was destroyed by this, thus this was born.


	2. Equal and Opposite

A/N: Written for Day 7 of the hashimadaminibang for the prompt Light/Darkness.

No warnings.

* * *

Everything is clear now. Madara knows what has to be done.

But he can't do it alone.

The chamber below the Naka Shrine is lit by twin fires that blaze like stars in the black of night. They smoke and spit and the _tengu_ murals on the walls dance in their flickering light. The tablet is bathed in their glow. Madara traces his fingertips over the stone and reads:

 _Of old, one god divided itself into Yin and Yang. These opposing, yet complementary, forces worked in harmony to create all things in the universe_.

Yin and Yang. Madara and Hashirama. Equal and opposite. No other interpretation occurs to him – no other interpretation is possible. Of course it means Hashirama. Who else has always been his perfect match and counterbalance?

They aren't so balanced anymore. Hashirama has upset the scale. Even so, a part of Madara wants to go up there into the sunlit village and to find him, to separate the Hokage from his cadre of sycophants and bring him here. He wants to show him the truth.

The more realistic part of Madara knows Hashirama won't understand. He's too content playing with his toy village to appreciate the bigger picture.

But that doesn't mean he won't be helping.


	3. Duty

A/N: Written for Day 5 of the hashimadaminibang for the prompt Duty/Dishonour

* * *

Madara leaves Konoha not under cover of darkness but openly in the early morning light. Sunlight gives his hair the same metallic blue sheen as crow feathers, or the chain attached to his gunbai that clinks as he walks. He does not look back at the village, not once.

Hashirama knows these things because he watched Madara go. He watched and he did nothing.

Madara's decision to leave ( _him_ ) the village is his own. He's welcome to return if he chooses, but Hashirama won't chase him down and beg. Let him go and search for this 'real dream' of his that is apparently so much worthier than their Konoha.

* * *

Madara's absence feels like a wound, one constantly worried at by all the reminders of where he _should_ be present. His seat at meetings has been filled by a young—but not _too_ young—man of the Uchiha clan given to polite smiles and vacant agreements. The acting head of the Uchiha clan. Hashirama has to swallow the urge to ask him what he thinks he's doing sitting in Madara's place.

He grows restless. Tobirama isn't surprised by the frequency of Hashirama's requests to spar, but he allows himself to appear visibly pleased by them. The days with his brother help. But the nights are cold and lonely.

* * *

Madara isn't coming back.

* * *

Months later, word of Madara's return precedes him. He isn't alone.

"Kumogakure are _quite_ certain," Tobirama repeats. "Given their…inside knowledge of the beast in question. Obvious physical description aside, the person spotted on its head can only be Madara."

 _So it comes to this._ It's not enough for Madara to abandon their dream; he has to try and erase it too, just as he once tried to erase the friendship they'd shared as boys. Hashirama hadn't allowed it then, and he won't allow it now.

For the first time in several years he dons his armour. Fills his sealing scroll with weapons. Tobirama watches this. "What will you do?"

There are many blades within this page, of all different sizes. The last is a simple katana. Hashirama unsheathes it, and morning sunlight gleams off the blade. "What I have to."


	4. Embers

A/N: Written for Day 3 of the hashimadaminibang for the prompt Peace/War.

Warnings: Discussion of teen sexuality

* * *

For a long time, Hashirama didn't understand that he was in love with Madara. How could he be in love with someone who tried to kill him (and whom he was forced to try and kill in turn) on an almost daily basis?

Fifteen and plagued with hormones and acne, it was understandable he'd be confused. The spots cleared up with the help of a herbal mixture his girlfriend taught him how to make, but nothing could be done about the other thing. He'd wake up sweating and achingly aroused after dreaming of fighting Madara. In these dreams the other boy would smile knowingly and press himself close to Hashirama even as the Senju's blade bit into his throat. Or there were the other dreams where Hashirama would disarm him and throw him down and they would wrestle and everything devolved into straining limbs, heat and friction.

Hashirama told himself this was normal. His mind was confused in what it wanted, and mixed his desire to be Madara's friend again with his _other_ desires. That the dreams seemed to occur less if he masturbated or spent time with his girlfriend lent credence to his theory.

He never thought about Madara when he was with her. The two of them looked nothing alike—were nothing alike. She was golden hair, curves and soft breath tickling his ear; Madara was wild hair growing ever longer, sharp angles and screaming for his blood. It would've been a disservice to both of them.

Years and many partners later, Hashirama still had the dreams from time to time, despite the raging sea of hormones having ebbed. He made peace with the notion that he wanted Madara, but never let these desires show. Wanting a man wasn't strange (there weren't that many women in the war camp after all…), but wanting an enemy? No one could know, _especially_ not Madara. Over a decade had passed since that day at the river and they still weren't friends, but Madara had long since grown out of trying to ignore him. They spoke between blows sometimes, bantered even, praising the other's jutsu and ridiculing him if he started to tire. Hashirama felt that this tenuous respect would be destroyed if Madara were to guess how he felt.

It never occurred to him that by closing off his own heart, he was unable to read Madara's.

Only once there was peace between them did he see that Madara had spent years harshly pushing him away and insisting he hated him precisely _because_ he cared too much. In the truce camp with their clan banners flying overhead the barrier between them came down. Something like their old friendship formed – but not quite the same. In the days they built their legacy, changing the structure of the shinobi world forever; the nights were spent away from prying eyes, together, building something else.

Hashirama was still in love with Madara. But it might be that Madara was in love with him too.


	5. The Gamble

A/N: Written for Day 4 of the hashimadaminibang for the theme Hope/Fear. Believe it or not, this was supposed to be a drabble but it took on a mind of its own and ran away. Oops.

* * *

There was too much blood; it seeped through Izuna's pale fingers as they clutched at the great scimitar of a wound left by Tobirama's attack. He could see the way the stain spread on the dark fabric and smeared against Madara's side as he supported his younger brother. More spilled out over Izuna's lips.

Without immediate medical attention, Hashirama didn't fancy his chances. Without help, Madara's only brother would die. But as leader of the Senju, he couldn't help an enemy, no matter how much he might want to. (If he saved Izuna, if he _saved Izuna_ then maybe Madara would see, maybe they would all see that he truly didn't want this to continue on…)

He made his offer, hoping sense and love for his brother would overcome Madara's stubborn pride. "Madara, let's put an end to this. If our clans join hands, no one would be able to stand against us and eventually the fighting would cease." Hashirama extended his hand, implored him with his gaze to accept it. "Come on…"

Madara's eyes were conflicted, but for a moment Hashirama truly believed he would accept. His heart soared when the Uchiha shifted as if about to step forwards—

—and plummeted when Izuna hissed out a warning against it. Madara listened to his younger brother in regards to matters where Hashirama never listened to his. This was no exception. They were gone with a toss of a smokebomb, peace slipping through his grasp like smoke just the same.

Tobirama tried to reason with him later. Hashirama sat at his drafting table with his head in his hands and a cup of sake by his elbow, doing his best not to listen to him. "If we allied with enough of the other clans, the Uchiha would have to see the futility of continuing to stand against us and surrender. We can make peace without them. You don't _need_ Madara for this, Anija—"

Hashirama stood up, the sake cup toppling to the ground. "You don't understand!" he snapped. "The Uchiha are our oldest enemies, and subjugation will never create a lasting peace between us. If I can't get Madara to – the _Uchiha_ ," he corrected himself, "to join us willingly, then there's no point in having them join us at all!"

Tobirama was very good at controlling his emotions, but Hashirama didn't miss the way he'd recoiled at his expression, or the tension to his muscles. He immediately felt guilty. Sighing, he sat down. "There's still a chance," he said. His gaze landed on his brushrest and inkstone.

The letter was the finest he'd ever written, the strokes bold and precise. He made a point of including that the Senju would provide immediate help with provisions and medical aid. Medical ninjutsu was not a skill the Uchiha were renowned for; most of their medics were captives. And Madara knew Hashirama's own skills at healing, having witnessed them firsthand. Surely it would be enough. Once he was finished, he made Tōka read it over several times to ensure that no offensive double-meanings could be inferred from any of his words. The peace treaty was sent off, Hashirama anxiously awaiting Madara's response.

He never replied.

Weeks passed. His spies could tell him nothing. It wasn't until the first of the Uchiha defectors began showing up that Hashirama learned of Izuna's fate, and of Madara's response to his missive.

"Dead. Died of his wounds. Quite drawn-out, it was. Nasty way to go."

"He's gone mad with grief. Clawed his own eyes out."

"Nay, it was his brother's eyes. He ripped Izuna's eyes right out of his skull, afore he'd even breathed his last."

"Uhm, well I wasn't there so I can't say this with the strictest certainty Senju-sama, but as far I know he tore it in half, spat on it, and nearly burned the house down setting it aflame while raving at the top of his voice about wreaking vengeance upon you and your mongrel—erm. That is to say, you and your brother."

The only thing Hashirama gleaned from these accounts with any certainty was that Izuna had died and that Madara was suffering for it.

He didn't see how much this was the case until the next time they met on the battlefield. Madara was changed. Hashirama heard some of his clansmen say that he was fighting like a beast, but they had it wrong. Only a man could fight like he had nothing left to lose.

Not long after dawn, Madara finally fell. He lay gasping for breath as the Senju closed in. He didn't move as Hashirama crouched down beside him, he didn't even try. As his chakra depleted the Sharingan had faded from his eyes, along with all his fury. His stare was dull and disinterested as Hashirama spoke to him.

He'd given up.

Hashirama couldn't allow that. One way or another he would prove the strength and sincerity of his convictions to Madara. He shed his armour and gave his last instructions to his brother and his clan. He readied the kunai, the point angled towards his guts. He watched Madara watching him. Then he closed his eyes and made the plunge.

* * *

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	6. Gracious in Defeat

I may add more parts to this one of Madara at different ages, but for now I just want to post it to try and get back into writing stuff.

* * *

A person's fighting style says a lot about them, and revealing too much isn't smart. Among strangers, where even their taijutsu form could give one of them away, sparring is risky. That's why Madara makes the offer. (He doesn't want them to be strangers, even though he knows this is stupid and reckless.) He throws it out there casually, as if the answer isn't important to him. "Want to spar?"

The other reason he thinks it would be a good idea is that he kind of likes Hashirama (even if he is the strangest kid Madara's ever met) and he wouldn't want…something to happen. The stronger Hashirama is, the better his chances. ( _His brothers had been skilled but not enough, they were too young and too weak and he had been too far and far too late to protect them—_ these thoughts are shaken off, like the presence of some biting insect.) Madara knows he is strong (or at least, this is what he's told, _not that it's mattered when it really counts_ ). He can make sure Hashirama gets strong too.

Hashirama accepts his offer. Madara doesn't expect him to be so good.

As someone used to defeating his sparring partners with ease, it seems to him that Hashirama moves faster, hits harder, and adapts to the unexpected better than anyone he's ever fought before. It's strange and kind of exciting, both of them realising that they're evenly matched and throwing themselves into it with renewed effort vigour.

In the end, it's Madara who falls and lands hard on his ass – the undignified ache in his tailbone a very unfamiliar feeling. Uchiha Madara, clan prodigy, isn't accustomed to losing.

Madara hides a smile and accepts Hashirama's offer of a hand up. "You won that round because I was just testing you!" he sniffs. "…best of three?"


	7. Beauty

A/N: One day I'll write longer things again. Today is not that day. No dialogue - just me trying to get back into writing.

* * *

Beautiful things: the many pale faces of the moon, the keen edge of a blade, the silhouette of a falcon framed by the sun. Madara's eyes are the keenest in the world; his aesthetic judgement is flawless. He knows where the highest form of beauty is to be found.

All he has to do is look at Hashirama.

It's not about good looks, although Hashirama isn't lacking these (even if his dress sense remains terrible). Many people have pleasing physical features. But this is the first, most shallow level of appreciation. This is not true beauty. Madara has never found pretty faces and toned limbs attractive for their own sake. And the only body he's ever desired is Hashirama's, all his muscles straining and his skin covered in dirt and sweat. Fucking is a lot like fighting in this way; it's a comparison Madara likes.

Power doesn't explain it away either. There are other powerful people – well, powerful enough to entertain, if not capable of lasting very long. (An issue Hashirama doesn't have. Madara's hard-pressed to keep up with him sometimes, though he tries to make sure it doesn't look that way. He can't match the brevity of Hashirama's refractory period though. It's just _abnormal_.) If the thrill of battle was _all_ there was to it, Madara knows they wouldn't be as they are now.

It's something else. It's all the aspects of Hashirama coming together to make him the standard by which Madara judges beauty.

The fact Madara's in love with him may also have something to do with it.


End file.
